


Salacia and Arausio

by Phoenicia



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Firefighter Tachibana Makoto, M/M, Makoto's Fear of Water, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Romance, Therapist Nanase Haruka, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenicia/pseuds/Phoenicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paralyzing fear, even of the ocean, is a hindrance to a firefighter. At the request of his department, Tachibana Makoto seeks help from a counselor named Nanase Haruka. </p><p>But why does someone he's never met put him at ease?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When the Twitter poll comes up 100% for 'post the new fic' rather than 'not until you post more of the WIP', well, I have to comply.

The complex of medical offices rose large and silver in Iwatobi’s downtown, where large was six stories. Tachibana Makoto shaded his eyes with one hand, squinting up at his concrete and glass nemesis and in no position to put off his appointment any longer. He’d already canceled it twice, unable to make his feet cross the sliding-door threshold, resulting in the dreaded mother-scolding for wasting the doctor’s time. That snapped him, at least temporarily, out of his avoidance; his problem was already a grave inconvenience for his family, and spreading that inconvenience to an innocent party with missed appointments made his trespasses worse. It meant he was failing on many more levels than before, sending concentric circles of incompetence outward and burdening others.

The thing he most hated to do, to burden others, to be anything less than a good son...a competent son...an honorable son.

A son staring thirty years of age in the face and unable to come near the ocean without a panic attack.

It was his captain at the firehouse who first suggested seeing a therapist. While psychotherapy and counseling were less utilized in Japan than in most Western countries, the emotional burdens associated with firefighting took their toll and led firefighters to seek professional assistance as part of their job. Firefighting carried a lot of risk and involved many split-second decisions; one couldn’t be indecisive, wishy-washy, or emotionally compromised and be effective in the field. Losses - both of coworkers and of people in harm’s way - were inevitable and difficulty coping was a frequent result. While it was Japanese nature to shoulder on and do one’s best not to cause difficulty or inconvenience for others, bearing up alone was not always possible. Thus, the Iwatobi Fire Department had cultivated a relationship with the few working counselors in the small town. At one time or another, most of the firefighters had paid them a visit to talk and to receive listening and advice.

“It’s just talking, Makoto,” he whispered to himself, giving his face a couple of fierce pats with both hands. “Usually you can talk anyone’s ear off, especially if you get going and get nervous, words just start coming out and there’s no way to stop them and before you know it you’re carrying on a full-fledged conversation for both sides and--...”

“Please excuse me.” The voice behind him was low and masculine, belonging to a dark-haired man in sunglasses and a suit. He made no comment on Makoto’s awkward flailing and hasty bows, walking through the automatic doors with a sense of urgency.

“See? It’s not that hard. That man walked right in there without hesitating.” Makoto watched him disappear into one of the elevators, purpose and confidence in the stranger’s stride; he wished he had that man’s bravery. “If you can run into a burning building, you can do this.” He sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and charged for the doors. They hissed open, admitting him to cool air fluffing his overlong hair and freshly-waxed tile beneath his feet. Makoto slid through a few clumsy steps, thankful not to wind up on his face before he had a chance to punch the up button.

The counselors’ offices were on the fifth floor, the carpet plush and the walls painted an inviting yellow-cream color. Several paintings hung in the corridor and the empty waiting room, calm blue-tinged landscapes that drew in the eye and contributed to the feeling of relaxation. Makoto knew little about art but something in the paintings made him feel at ease. He pulled the paperwork from the station out of his messenger bag to present to the receptionist.

“Tachibana Makoto-san?” Her voice had an Osaka-ben lilt to it, a slight gap between her front teeth.

“Yes, that’s me. I apologize for inconveniencing you before.” Makoto made a quick bow, holding out the paperwork.

“Please don’t trouble yourself. If you’ll complete these forms, the doctor will be able to see you right away.” She took the firehouse papers and handed him a clipboard and a blue ink pen advertising the small cafe on the ground level. “I think I saw him slip in earlier, we weren’t sure you would make it.”

Makoto’s shoulders sank and he bit back a sigh. “I’m so sorry for my unreliability.”

“It’s no trouble,” the nurse behind her said, fluffing her hair with her left hand. “Firefighting is a demanding job and while keeping appointments is important, it’s more important to put out fires. This can always be rescheduled, but saving someone’s life can’t.”

Their kindness gave him the option to save face, but in truth Makoto didn’t want his face saved. He had made things difficult for them, to the point they doubted he would keep any appointment. He slunk in shame to a chair, clicking the pen and making short work of the forms and releases. After signing his name five separate times, he returned the clipboard to the desk and settled in to wait.

His phone had a new mail from Kisumi, full of pictures of Hayato’s swim club, and despite his anxiety Makoto smiled. In high school he’d helped Hayato overcome fear and learn to swim; he’d wanted to go to Tokyo to study education and coaching after that, but with three children in his family the money just wasn’t there for a big city university. Instead, he took fire science classes at the local college and joined the department after graduation. While he didn’t know for sure if he was passionate about it, Makoto loved helping people and protecting them. All of their small town knew the tall firefighter with the kind smile and the perpetual ash-smudges on his cheeks.

“Tachibana-san?” the receptionist said. “If you’ll go down the hall, you’ll be in the third room on the right.”

“Thank you.” The hallway had more of the paintings, these in a muted purple-grey palette. Probably by the same artist, Makoto thought, noticing the door was already cracked. “Pardon my intrusion,” he said, pushing it open.

The room looked much more like a living room than a doctor’s office or exam cubicle; the lights were out, the only illumination coming from the hood light of the large fish tank. A few comfortable chairs and a sofa sat arranged in a group to one side, but the tank drew Makoto’s attention. Here, safely behind glass, this small piece of the ocean didn’t feel as threatening. Bright fish swam in ribboned schools through its expanse, which at a glance he estimated to be at least 3000 liters. “You’re not so scary, are you?” Makoto mused, pressing his palm against the glass and watching them flit about.

Three large tentacles slapped the inside of the tank, suckers adhering to it. Makoto shrieked in terror and stumbled backwards, frantic for some place to hide from this horrific sea creature trying to bust through the glass and devour him. The reddish octopus was HUGE, how hadn’t he seen it before? His hands were trembling, his breathing coming too fast, and yet he couldn’t seem to _move_ any farther away.

“Tachibana-san?” Cloth rustled in movement from the sofa; someone had been lying on it to rest, Makoto distantly realized over the frantic race of his heart and drumbeat throb of blood in his ears. He disturbed someone, he caused more inconvenience, what sort of person was this _weak_? “Tachibana-san,” the voice repeated in oddly-accented Japanese, a hand closing on Makoto’s shoulder, cool enough to make him shiver at the touch. “I need you to listen and focus on me. I will help you through this, but the first thing we have to do is get you to exhale. When I squeeze your shoulder I want you to breathe out. One good breath, that’s all we need to get it going. One, two, three, and out.” The slim hand gripped and Makoto pushed the stale air in his lungs out, gasping as they refilled by reflex. “Good, good. Let’s go again.” Out...and then in, the stranger’s low voice guided Makoto step by step from the grip of panic until he breathed normally and his hands stopped shaking.

Heaving a weary sigh, Makoto finally got a good look at his savior. Black hair, undone collar above his vest, jacket and tie nowhere in sight, shirtsleeves rolled up slightly and the bluest eyes possible. “You!” Makoto gasped out in disbelief; it was the man from outside the building earlier.

“This isn’t how I usually meet new friends or new patients.” He stuck out a hand rather than bowing. “I’m Nanase Haruka and I’ll be your therapist.” The faintest of smiles whispered over his angular face. “And you’re Tachibana...Makoto, wasn’t it?”

Makoto took the offered hand, finding it to still be too cool to the touch. Maybe Nanase-sensei had circulation problems? “Yes,” he said, a little bit uncomfortable; in remote Iwatobi, bows were much more common for introductions, with handshakes used only in concluding sports competitions. “Please take care of me,” Makoto added.

“You as well.”

Makoto found himself fidgeting nervously, self-conscious in ways he wasn’t sure how to express. “Ah, Nanase-sensei? I...I have something I want to ask you before we get started, but...it’s a bit inappropriate.”

Nanase shook his dark head, gesturing towards the sofa. “This is your time, Tachibana-san. No question is inappropriate, no thought unimportant. Please, feel free to ask.” He took a seat for himself in a blue brocade chair, deep and plush enough to nearly lift his feet up off the ground.

“Ah….” Makoto dropped down onto the sofa, too concerned to savor its cushy welcome. “You...you aren’t really Japanese, are you?” It was an amazingly rude question, one that would undoubtedly make Nanase-sensei feel judged and lacking in some way, but Makoto had to know. His pronunciation and word choices suggested native speaker and he looked the part, but while lyrical, his accent carried nothing of Japan in it.

Nanase shrugged. “Yes and no. That is, I was born in Japan but I spent most of my life out of it, so to most Japanese people I’m not Japanese at all.” He tilted his head slightly, bangs brushing almost down to his eyelashes, which were very long for a man’s. “As such, you may find I’m more direct in my methods than a Japanese therapist would be. You would cause me no offense or difficulty if you asked to be assigned to a different counselor after this session. Your comfort and healing are my priorities.”

Makoto sighed in relief, the tension finally leaving his body as he slumped back against the cushions. “I’m so glad I didn’t upset you by asking.”

“You can ask me anything, Tachibana-san. This is your time, after all.”

Despite sitting straight-backed in the chair, a neat blank pad and pencil in his lap, Nanase-sensei’s nap-rumpled appearance made Makoto feel strangely at ease. “Why do you have an octopus?” he blurted out.

At that, the therapist laughed, the sound light and almost made of bubbles to Makoto’s ears. “Abigail? Well, I like to go diving, and one day I found her near a reef. She was sick and injured, and I made a sudden decision to bring her home with me. I couldn’t just let her die, she’s so beautiful, and I had experience with rehabilitating marine life. I hand fed her for months while she got better, but now she won’t survive in the wild. So, she has a big tank here with me. I’m very sorry that she frightened you,” he added, bowing slightly.

“Oh, no!” Makoto waved his hands in front of him. “She...didn’t really. I mean, it’s not her. It’s...ah...kind of difficult to explain.”

 _It’s just talking, Makoto,_ he heard himself saying earlier. Just. Talking.

“I’m...afraid. Of the ocean,” he said, voice a tiny whisper. “Really afraid. And I don’t even know _why_ . I know how to swim. I even _taught_ swimming to kids part-time in high school. But...there’s this feeling I have, that there’s something in the water. Something scary. Like I’m remembering something but not really. A dream, maybe? This overwhelming feeling of the water crushing me...enjoying it...wanting me to drown.” Makoto swallowed hard, his hands clasped together until his knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tachibana-san?” Nanase said, waiting before he continued. “Fear doesn’t always make sense. It’s all right if it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s something the mind has forgotten but the body still remembers. Not being able to pinpoint a root cause immediately doesn’t invalidate it. It exists and it’s real, so what we will do is find ways to help you deal with it and take charge of your reactions.”

The doctor’s eyes were so blue, _ocean_ blue, but Makoto felt no fear when he looked at him. “Thank you,” he felt the words leave him like that frantic, panic-attacked breath. “No one’s ever made me feel like getting better was possible.”

“...you’ve cancelled all your other appointments,” Nanase replied, laughing gently when Makoto deflated. “Sorry, that was a bad joke. I’m...a little glad that you did. I read over what the fire department submitted about you, and I thought I might be able to help you. But you weren’t scheduled to be on my rotation until today.”

“Then I’m glad I was such a coward before today.” Makoto smiled for the first time, the knotted tension in him finding a bit more ease. “Ah, are you supposed to ask me questions and such? About m-my mother?”

“Do you think she has something to do with your feelings about the ocean?”

“What? No!”

“Then I don’t think I need to ask those questions.” Nanase huffed a small, quiet sigh. “There are a lot of misconceptions about therapy, to be honest. Things that both movies and our culture unfortunately reinforce. You wouldn’t forego the doctor if you were burned fighting a fire, would you? If you did, your skin would never heal properly, if at all, and it could impede your ability to move or live without pain later if you didn’t. This is really the same, it’s utilizing proper treatment in order to heal.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way.” He relaxed further, deciding that if he considered this on the level of healing a broken bone, it didn’t seem intimidating. “...I don’t have to have any shots, though, right?”

“No shots,” Nanase assured. “I’m here to listen to you, objectively. I’m not here to decide a course of action for you, but to provide you an outlet, a sounding board, a place to vent your feelings without judgment or censure. It can be very difficult to share these sorts of things with family because we’re so socialized into trying not to burden others with our feelings or to bring up anything that might cause unhappiness for them.”

“Sensei,” Makoto whispered, more than a little enthralled by the therapist’s words, words he has _needed_ to hear for years. “It’s like you can read what’s inside me. I...I need to be reliable. Diligent. I _have_ to. I’m the oldest in my family, so it’s my obligation to set a good example for my siblings - they’re twins, in their second year of college.”

“You must love them very much, Tachibana-san.” Nanase had his pad in his lap, jotting a few notes. “Please tell me more,” he said.

The hands in his lap clenched and Makoto looked down at them, wanting desperately for their strength to finally be _enough_ . “I have a good job that I enjoy doing where I can help people every day. But...this is a seaside town. And I am so _afraid_ whenever I see the ocean, I just don’t know what to do. Sometimes...it’s kind of like with the octopus. Sometimes I’m almost okay. The rest of the sometimes...I’m too ashamed to tell you, sensei. I have a problem and because of it I’m letting everyone down, I’m creating terrible inconvenience for them.”

The gentle whisk of pencil against paper stilled, Nanase looking up at the same time Makoto did. “All right. Thank you for sharing with me, I believe I have a better grasp on your perspective now. Before we proceed, though, I have something I need to ask you.”

Makoto hesitated but nodded. “Okay. I hope I know the answer.”

Nanase smiled without teeth, just the tiniest lift of his lips. “Let’s imagine for a moment that someone else - someone from the department - has just come to you and told you exactly what you told me. They have confided in your about their fear and their feelings of inadequacy resulting from it. What do you tell that person? What do you think would ease their mind?”

“Ah...well, I think the first thing I would do, is to let them know they aren’t alone. That everyone is afraid of something. That the department succeeds because we can support each other.” Makoto scratched his cheek with a finger, most of the words coming to him without thought when it wasn’t his situation. “I’m not that much of a physical person, but if I thought it would help them to understand...I’d clasp their shoulder or maybe even hug them. Words aren’t always easy for everyone, either to say or to hear, but touch says things words can’t.”

“That’s very insightful. If I’m not careful, you may be taking my job soon.” The therapist shook his head at Makoto’s stammered denial. “No, I’m quite serious, that’s something that person would need to hear. And that’s why I want to tell it to you. Because _you_ need to hear it, Tachibana Makoto.” Nanase’s expression softened, warming until Makoto felt heat gather in his cheeks. “You aren’t alone. Everyone is afraid of something. We succeed because we can support each other.” The slim hand that touched Makoto’s shoulder was surprisingly strong but gentle, its cool touch burning down through Makoto’s shirt. “There is nothing wrong with you or anything that makes you different from a hypothetical person. You are every bit as worthy to receive understanding as those to whom you freely give it. Please let yourself accept it.”

Makoto clamped his lips together and buried his face in his hands, too overwhelmed to do anything coherent. Somewhere deep inside, he heard a voice repeating _You always put yourself last, you need to care about yourself more_. “It’s...so hard.”

“...it was probably hard learning to fight fires, too. But you can do it now. Nothing really happens overnight, habits and learned coping mechanisms don’t just go away. But change can come, if you are willing to work and not give up.” Nanase gently squeezed his shoulder and withdrew his hand, settling back into his own chair. “I believe you can do it,” he added, returning to his writing and giving Makoto a private moment to collect himself.

The firefighter felt a little foolish, but he appreciated Nanase’s kind but practical manner. A few deep breaths mastered the emotional current, allowing him to drift back to familiar land: curiosity. “So what exactly do you write down in these sessions?”

“Whatever will help me best remember. I can have a memory like a fish sometimes.”

Makoto couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. “Does that mean I should call you Dory-sensei?”

“Everyone with either younger siblings or children always makes that Disney joke,” Nanase grumbled, but his face showed no real offense. “I should be used to it. But, to give you a real answer, it’s usually specific points or things mentioned which brought the most reaction that I write down; however, it’s also good for me to note the small, insignificant things, too. In later sessions, I may bring in an audio recorder so I can listen back and try to plan the best way to guide future therapy for you. With your permission, of course.” Makoto nodded; it made him a little self-conscious to think of Nanase-sensei listening to his voice over and over again, but it meant he cared and sought to help Makoto as best he could. “And...I also tend to draw things.”

“What sort of things?”

Rather than answering, Nanase turned the page of notes to show a pencil drawing: Makoto cowering back from the octopus. “Sensei~~!” Makoto complained before laughing; he really looked silly in it, and laughing at himself made the earlier fear seem less powerful. “I’m a little insulted, but...wow. You’re really talented. I can’t draw more than a stick figure cat,” he added. “Can I have this?” He touched the page with one finger, more than a little captivated by how real it looked.

“If you want.” The therapist tore out the page and held it towards Makoto, the motion jarring a glint of green free from behind his shirt. “What?” he asked when Makoto failed to take it.

“Your necklace. It’s...breathtaking.” Makoto stretched his hand, the thin chip of iridescent green balanced against his large forefinger. “What’s it made of? Mother of pearl, maybe?”

“....ah, yeah. It’s old, I’ve had it a long time. It was a gift from my best friend when I was a kid.” Nanase’s fingertips furled on the page’s edge, worrying against the torn binding. “I guess even doctors have things they cling to from the past.” He shrugged, tucking the necklace back inside his shirt and rebuttoning it. “He moved away and I never heard from him again, so there’s a good chance he’s forgotten me.”

Makoto shook his head, silently grateful to have just a fractured moment where he knew without a doubt what he needed to say and do. “Even if the mind has forgotten, sensei, the body still remembers.”

Nanase shot him a naked, honest look, the pain and uncertainty in it more than sealing the deal for Makoto. Just as quickly, it vanished behind his professional facade, his eyes once more clear as water and as impossible to see through as the deepest ocean. As to be expected of someone who dealt in the problems of others, Makoto thought, Nanase-sensei kept his own somewhere very private. And yet...that didn’t stop Makoto from wanting to know.

The therapist looked away, his shoulders trembling with badly-suppressed laughter. “Tachibana-san, if you can quote my words back to me already, I will definitely have to worry for my job.” He held the drawing out again, shaking it once until Makoto took it. “Since I drew it during your session, it’s no charge. Especially since we’re out of time,” he added, glancing up at the antique nautical clock over Abigail’s tank. “But I hope I’ve been able to be of some help to you, and I hope to see you return to our office, regardless of whether you decide to continue with me or not. Please have a peaceful day, Tachibana-san.” He inclined his head in a bow which Makoto returned, the latter getting to his feet (and avoiding walking in front of the octopus tank) to leave. With a minuscule smile, Nanase flipped the sheet back down and made a few quick notes before he forgot them.

“Sensei?” Makoto ventured, having paused to turn in the doorway. The low light framed him in shadows, the green of his eyes vivid in the dim. “I don’t want to see a different therapist. Is that all right?”

Nanase nodded, looking up and setting the pad aside. “You can make your next appointment with the receptionist. I’ll be waiting to share your time, Tachibana-san.” Makoto’s smile lit up his face and he made an eager bow before leaving, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.

Slowly, Nanase put a hand over his eyes and exhaled, trying to push his own tension out with the breath. For all that he sought to maintain professional distance, he feared it wouldn’t be possible for long around one Tachibana Makoto.

Tachibana. _Mandarin orange._

_Ahrooo-ka?_

Nanase stood, walking over to the tank. Abigail had one tentacle pressed to the glass as she watched him with intelligent, perceptive eyes. With a small smile, he opened the top and offered her his hand. She wrapped the curlicued end of a tentacle around his fingers, suckers clinging to his skin with trust and affection.

“Abby…” Haruka whispered to his familiar, “we’ve found him at last.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a therapist. While there may be some generally sound principles in what Haruka does, this is a very fictional depiction because reasons. 
> 
>    
> Makoto's question to Haruka would be pretty rude, and not a lot of people would ask it outright, even if they are thinking it. Haruka, while looking Japanese, doesn't comport himself in enough of a Japanese way to blend in and thus he sticks out.
> 
> For reference, Abigail is a giant Pacific octopus ( _Enteroctopus dofleini_ ). Their natural range includes the waters off of Japan. She is not full-grown, so her arm span is only about eight to nine feet at the moment (each tentacle around four feet). Plenty big enough to scare Makoto.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto dreams. Makoto fantasizes. Makoto shops.
> 
> All of these things manage to involve Nanase-sensei.

_“Do you think he’s dead?”_

_“What’s dead again, Ran?”_

_“Not breathing,” Ran says with all the authority of a thirteen-minutes-older sister._

_A small hand reaches to feel for air from his mouth and nose. “He’s not dead!” the boy declares, his voice a tangle of wonder-fear. “But he looks drowned.”_

_“How is drowned different from dead, stupid?”_

_“....he’s all wet, that’s how. Normal not-breathing dead doesn’t equal wet.”_

_“Okay. If he’s not dead but drowned, he shouldn’t wake up if you poke him. So go on, Ren. Poke him!”_

_“Ran! I can’t! Isn’t that kind of rude?”_

_“Don’t be such a baby, Ren!”_

_“I’m not a baby!” Despite his near-tears whining, Ren nonetheless summons his nerve and shakes the stranger’s shoulder. “Hello? Drowned naked person-san? Are you dead?”_

_The person moans and both twins scramble back like ungainly crabs with their floaties. Green eyes crack open and squint against the noontime sun. He shakes his head and leans back on his elbows. “Dead?” he says, the word sounding foreign. “No, no, I don’t think so. But what is this place called?”_

_“Iwatobi,” they reply in chorus._

_“A land with a guardian penguin...” Slowly, he sits up, mindless of his nudity, and rests cross-legged in the surf. “What are your names?”_

_“We’re not supposed to say!” the boy insists, shrinking a bit behind the girl. “You’re a stranger.”_

_“He’s not drowned or dead but he has no clothes,” the girl points out. “Mama said we’re supposed to help people in need, even if they’re strangers.” Clearing her throat and squaring her little shoulders, she flips her braided pigtails. “I’m Ran, he’s Ren. Who are you?”_

_“Ran...Ren,” he repeats, the pitch of his voice lowering slightly, its timbre turning musical and hypnotic. “From now on, I’m going to be your older brother.” He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling shut in gentle, inviting warmth._

_“Call me Makoto.”_

* * *

 

With a gasp, Makoto startled himself awake, breathing heavily. There was very little ocean in that dream, but enough for him to sink a foot into muddy anxiety. He pressed a hand over his racing heart, trying to gather the tattered remnants of the dream before they faded away. Nanase-sensei said to make note if he had any unusual dreams, as the more Makoto talked about his fears the more likely they were to appear during sleep as his mind worked on the problems.

That...hadn’t been like any of his other dreams; it was more like watching a movie than experiencing it. No more chocolate-covered gummi bears before bed! But what could such a weird, surreal dream mean? The twins were young in it, only about five or six, and the dream-him-that-wasn't-him seemed to come from the water, perhaps bent on seducing them into its depths. Were they connected to his fear? Had there been some incident lost in his memories where the ocean tried to take one of them, something he repressed for the sake of his sanity? Or did he fear them catching it from him, like a phobia was some sort of disease that could be spread?

He rolled over in bed, picking up the notebook on the nightstand to jot down some of his rambling thoughts. Another of Nanase-sensei’s suggestions. Today was Wednesday...no, Thursday. He had the next two days off, with an appointment tomorrow and back to work midday Saturday.

Which, Makoto decided, meant there was no good reason for him to be awake this early. Sleeping in was a luxury now, one which he greedily craved after the long shifts. He flipped the blanket up over his face and hunkered back into his cave of laziness.

“Makoto? Are you awake?” His mother knocked on the door before peeking in. “I’m about to leave for work, but I’ll need you to go to the store for me, soon. If you don’t, they’ll sell out of what I need for green curry tonight.”

That was so _not_ fair, pulling out the green curry lure. “Okaa-san!” he protested, ready to give up anything his mother asked except sleep. “They won’t run out of curry paste.”

“No,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed with a puff of lavender soap scent, “but they might run out of beef. It’s gotten harder to get lately.” And Tachibana green curry wasn’t Tachibana green curry without beef. Pork, shrimp, even vegetable were all still good, but each and every member of their family loved it best when it was beef. “Both the twins did so well on their exams this week, I think they deserve a special reward.”

If it was for his younger siblings, Makoto would sacrifice anything, including sleep and privacy. So he unearthed himself from his blanket nest and slothed his way towards the dresser. His mother burbled a laugh and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, telling him she’d leave the list and breakfast on the table for him.

A shower and a fried egg sandwich later, Makoto hurried towards town with the all-important list in his pocket. The day was warm, with a bit of salt breeze stirring from the ocean; Makoto turned his head away from the sight and walked faster down the Uradome Road. He had a task, which made controlling his urge to panic a little easier, but by the time his back was to the sea he was red-faced and sweating from his haste.

_You aren’t alone. Everyone is afraid of something. We succeed because we can support each other._

Makoto felt himself flush hotter but not from exertion. Something about Nanase-sensei’s calm voice, his quiet assurance...drew him. His strangely-accented Japanese, precise and correct but almost foreign to Makoto’s ears, gave comfort. More than once he’d heard that voice in his dreams over the past several weeks, speaking softly and giving rise to lathered, heated awakenings like he was thirteen again.

This morning’s dream had been a respite, if an unwelcome and odd one. He had enough to sort out with his burgeoning attraction to his therapist - attraction he could _never_ mention for so many reasons - without his subconscious adding indiscernible surrealism.

He huffed to a stop in front of the store, taking a moment to slow his breathing before going inside. Makoto pulled the list out of his pocket and put on his glasses to read it, wondering if he needed a hand basket or a cart. There seemed to be an awful lot of things on the list, but most of them were small. He should take the basket and leave the carts for people who intended to buy more, Makoto thought, hefting one from the stack near the door.

First, the beef; Makoto made a beeline for the meat counter, reading off the amount from his list. His mother was right to worry; once his order was weighed and measured, less than 50 grams of her preferred beef remained in the case. He took the precious package and laid it in the basket, bowing in thanks to the butcher. One item down, he marched towards the aisle for curry paste and coconut milk.

Ten minutes later, he still couldn’t decide between the stacks on the shelf. The list simply said ‘coconut milk’ and none of the labels looked familiar. Would he totally ruin curry night if he brought home the wrong kind? The twins deserved perfect curry. His mother deserved it, after going back to work when the twins started high school. His father deserved it, commuting to Tottori every day to support them all. Even he deserved it a little, still living at home so his salary could help his family afford college for both twins.

Well, that was no great sacrifice on his part; Makoto felt himself to be too much a coward and too poor a cook to live on his own. But maybe he deserved perfect curry for facing down some of his fears and finally dragging himself to the therapist’s office. Nanase-sensei’s tiny mouth and elegant handwriting sprang to mind and Makoto had to admit it was no longer a sacrifice to keep those appointments, but something he looked forward to...

“Tachibana-san?” the throaty voice of Makoto’s fantasies spoke up. “Are you all right?”

“Sensei…” He exhaled the title as a prayer, a guilty and startled benediction that set his heart racing once more. Was Nanase really there or was it just Makoto’s overactive imagination? “Do you know anything about coconut milk?”

Nanase’s cool hand brushed near Makoto’s as it tilted the list into view, sending a quiver of want up the firefighter’s spine. “Oh, you’re making green curry. Then you’ll want this brand,” he said, plucking a can from the shelf and laying it in Makoto’s basket. “For squash curry, I’d use this blue one instead. For a soup, the orange can; it’s a bit thinner in consistency than the others. If you wind up with leftover milk, you can make whipped sweet potatoes with it.”

Makoto didn’t mean to, but he stared open-mouthed at his therapist, casually dressed today in a short-sleeved shirt, khaki capri pants, and boat shoes, with his own shopping basket resting on his arm. “Sensei…” he repeated, amazement and envy fighting a sudden skirmish in his belly. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Nanase looked up, smiling only with the corners of his eyes. “I can’t fight fires,” he said, voice soft and calm. “I think I’d be rather terrible at working the long shifts involved with it, and I’m a bit afraid of getting burned. Everyone has their skills and their weaknesses, Tachibana-san.” He inclined his head in his normal polite reserve. “I’m very sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No, wait!” Makoto felt his ears flush red from the outburst, but something in him just couldn’t let Nanase-sensei walk away. Not when he occupied so much real estate between Makoto’s flaming ears. “Ah...I’m not really good with shopping, I’m kind of a terrible cook. Not kind of, really terrible, if I’m honest. So...ah...I don’t know if I’m buying the right things. Could you help...me?” he asked, voice cracking up an embarrassing octave. Not only was his libido in full-on puberty, his larynx couldn’t help but join the party, too.

Ocean-blue eyes searched Makoto for a long moment in silence, this gaze far more penetrating than the one seen in his office, Abigail’s tank burbling in the background. Nanase glanced down, huffing a small sigh through his nose, and held out his hand.

Makoto nearly tucked his palm against Nanase’s before common sense gave his fantasies a roundhouse kick back to reality. Oh. _The list._ Stammering something unintelligible, he laid the paper in the other man’s hand. “I’m sorry to be such a bother,” he whispered.

“You aren’t,” Nanase said, taking a quick glance at the list. “A bother, that is; I wasn’t implying that you weren’t sorry,” he added, hastening past in a flurried rush. By the time Makoto caught up, any hint of self-consciousness lay buried beneath Nanase’s professional demeanor. “How are you at picking vegetables?”

The list didn’t last nearly long enough, Makoto counting out bills and coins into the cashier’s tray before he knew it. The perfect ingredients for perfect Tachibana curry, loaded into two shopping bags for him to carry home. “I can’t thank you enough, Sensei. I...really thought I was going to let my family down, and you saved them from my incompetence. Honestly, thank you so much.”

Nanase collected his own small bag and waved off the apology with a flick of his hand. “I didn’t do anything worthy of thanks, Tachibana-san. I hope your family enjoys the curry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The earlier panic returned, a sudden, greedy dread at letting Nanase-sensei out of his sight. “Why don’t you join us?” He knew nothing about his therapist’s personal life, other than he had an estranged friend from many years ago, but...there was something so _lonely_ about the minuscule groceries Nanase purchased, only enough for one person. “There’s always plenty, and after as much as I’ve talked about my family you pretty much know them already.”

An odd, longing look flared up briefly in Nanase’s eyes before he shook his head. “Your invitation is too kind, but I have to refuse. I am your therapist, which means my perspective is meant only for you in order to aid in your healing. Meeting the other people in your life, your family...it makes it harder for me to do my job and to be objective. It’s a very thoughtful offer, but I can’t.”

It made sense, Nanase’s reasoning, and the last thing Makoto wanted was to make his job more difficult. “I understand,” he said around a mouthful of disappointment, “and I’m sorry for presuming. Maybe we could have coffee on one of my off days instead? It feels so odd to only spend time with you when you’re being paid.”

“That’s why it’s called a professional relationship.” Nanase’s hypnotic eyes seemed huge in his face, wide and endless blue as they invited Makoto to drown forever. “Anything else would be considered unethical, especially as a therapist. I’d be taking advantage of you even to cultivate a friendship.” He broke eye contact, shoulders lifting in a soft sigh. “I appreciate the thought, but these sorts of things always turn out badly. I do think it’s a good sign that you’re relaxing and trusting me, and you aren’t as nervous. The first day, I believe you would have combusted before you made an invitation.” His smile was wry in profile. “Small steps, but you’re making them. Please excuse me.” He bowed and hurried out of the store with quick steps, turning in the direction of the few apartment buildings dotting Iwatobi’s downtown.

Following to the exit, Makoto watched him go, never looking back as he made his escape. And why would he, Makoto thought. He acted decisively to put the necessary distance between them to cover up Makoto’s faux pas. Nanase hadn’t scolded him or rejected him in a cruel way, only pointed out the reality of their situation. While he was new in Iwatobi, being a therapist was a respected job, a place in society Nanase clearly had no wish to lose. And even as fierce as Makoto’s desire grew, he didn’t want to ruin Nanase’s reputation or compromise his principles.

Much.

Somewhere deep, beneath countless layers and strata of insecurity and fear, self-denial and necessary repression, a tiny little spark struggled to breathe its way into life as a flame.

  
_But...what if I were the one to take advantage of you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our first whisper of ethics violations begins...
> 
> I am not a therapist, any less-than-accurate behavior on the part of a fictional therapist in my work is for plot purposes only.


End file.
